


It's the Simple Pleasures

by Ariaprincess



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P Hetalia, 2p england is trying his best, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Brief Master!England and Servant!2p!England, Cannibalism, Gen, Human Names Used, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 15:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11016357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariaprincess/pseuds/Ariaprincess
Summary: "He can’t recall going to sleep, but he does remember waking up." Arthur awakens in a strange world that he has no memory of visiting. This strange, new world is virtually empty, save for a table and a curious mirror image of himself who claims to know him. He won't offer him any explanations, however, only a good meal.





	It's the Simple Pleasures

He can’t recall going to sleep, but he does remember waking up.

A soft bed, with silken sheets and soft pillows. A white room, with white walls and white flooring. The bed is simple, a block of white, and pushed up against one wall. He places one hand against the wall to steady himself and finds it cool to the touch. The sheets, however, are warm. 

He doesn’t want to leave.

He eventually finds it in himself to crumple the perfectly pressed sheets and stand, feeling as vulnerable as a baby chick leaving the nest for the first time. The room is cold, a little colder than the wall, and the floor feels extremely smooth underneath his bare feet, like polished quartz. He wears only a simple white tunic, almost like a hospital gown, but the fabric is stranger and not like anything he’s ever worn before. He feels defenseless, helpless.

He starts to walk.

The room extends for what seems like forever, an endless hallway where the only two boundaries are the walls on either side of him. He looks up and sees only a swirling mist of white fog. He continues to walk. The footsteps he makes are soundless; the only thing audible is his own breathing. He ruminates on his memories as he walks, recalling his name, his age, how he looks, but nothing about how he ended up here.

Eventually, after what could have been an eternity or only ten minutes, he couldn’t tell, he comes across a clearing, and the hallway widens into a room. There is only a table and two chairs, no other furniture, but the smells coming from the covered dishes on the table wake up his senses. An assortment of plates, each as white as the rest of the room and the domed covers atop them foggy and translucent, emitting scents that seem to have come from the very center of heaven. A small, folded card atop the center dish reads _“For Arthur”_ in looping script.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

He jumps, noticing the spot of pink and cerulean against the white background. 

Another person.

“I made this for you. You should eat, you’ve been here for...” He chuckles. “...a while.”

Arthur is struck dumb. Cautiously, he sits down at the table and waits as the other male makes his way towards him. He is a mirror image of him, down to the way that his hair falls in his eyes and the way he stands. The color palette is completely off, though, more saturated and definitely stranger than what he’s used to seeing in the mirror.

The stranger smirks slightly, though his tone and posture seem slightly weary. 

“Tonight’s dishes. I hope they will be to your liking.”

He removes the cover of the first plate with a flourish, watching it dissipate into glowing mist as soon as it touches his fingertips. What had been under the cover was beef, sliced paper-thin and dripping with succulent juices. Garnished and plated perfectly, impossible to resist. 

“Come on, unless you’d like me to feed you. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Arthur wonders what that means, as he’s never met this man before in his life. Still, the delicious scent of the meat is tantalizing, and he gracefully picks up the knife and fork. The stranger watches as he devours the meal with ease, the mannerisms so similar and yet so different.

The dishes keep coming, even when it seems that there are no more plates. Every time the cover is brought down and up again, there is a new culinary creation waiting to be devoured. Cream of chicken soup with fresh vegetables, mashed potatoes perfectly seasoned with garlic and butter, fruit sliced and sugared until it becomes an edible masterpiece. Fish, salad, bread, spices. No drinks are needed, chilled ice water that cools his tongue is always present. Eventually the onslaught of food melds into dessert, bringing forth sugary caramel, candied apples and nuts, creamy sauces, puddings dripping with sweet chocolate syrup, and pastries topped with the most intricate sugar sculptures known to humankind. Gelatins, glazes, meringue, and fruits. 

The most astonishing thing is that Arthur never feels full. Even as the last smears of chocolate sauce are disappearing from the plates, he still has the urge to eat. Even now he is indulging, sipping spiced apple tea with sugar cubes carved into the shapes of clubs, diamonds, spades, and hearts. The stranger who had served him every single dish is watching him, even as he refills his cup and makes plates and covers vanish with a flick of his wrist. Soon, Arthur finds the courage to speak.

“Sir-”

“Oh please, call me Oliver, it’s much less formal.” The man winks at him as he takes the empty cup away and fills it up once more, plunking in two sugar cubes. Arthur takes the now refilled cup gratefully, letting the spices mingle on his tongue.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For the meal. It was excellent.”

“But...” Oliver seems to expect the second part, but Arthur doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. The look in Oliver’s eyes isn’t hopeful anticipation like he expects, but resignation. Like he’s been through this a million times. With a sigh, Arthur says the thing on both of their minds.

“But I’m still hungry.” 

Oliver’s smirk has grown into a grimace, a painful contortion of ersatz happiness. With a sigh, he clutches his chest, almost as if he was in pain. He whispers something, almost to himself.

“I thought that... maybe this time... the right combination of flavours... I thought I could find it...”

He takes the only remaining cover and lowers it down onto the plate. He smiles at Arthur again, this time sadder. 

“Just like always, right?”

Arthur still has no idea what he means, but as soon as the cover is removed, Oliver collapses to the ground, twitching. Arthur can see why, but the horror, the revulsion he wants to feel is replaced by another emotion.

Hunger.

A beating, bloody, human heart rests on the china plate, drizzled in what looks to be a strawberry sauce and garnished excellently. Arthur looks back to Oliver’s supine form, listening to his screams and the muffled moaning, before picking up the knife and fork once again. The urge is too strong now, he can’t ignore it.

The screams only increase as Arthur devours the organ, and with every bite, memories keep flooding back, as strong and sharp as the flavour currently dousing Arthur’s tongue.

_“Oliver, what do you have for me today?”_

_A pink-haired man in shackles, serving a haughty master over and over, day after day, never satisfied and never full. Bound to serve him and fulfill every desire._

_“Brisket? Again? You must be losing your touch...”_

_“I t-thought you liked brisket...”_

_Dish after dish, a hunger that cannot be cured._

_“If you do something like this again, I will have no choice but to punish you....”_

_Trying to find the curse, though so much trial and error, that was spoken of only in legend to end this hell._

_“My dishes need to be unique, understand? I don’t care that you can use your fancy magic to create my food. If the food isn’t worth eating, I want nothing to do with it, you hear me?”_

_The magic that led him to create this place will now lead his mirror image to destroy it._

_“... yes, master.”_

_The food he had laced with the ancient memory spell, magic combining with magic to create something entirely new._

_“W-what in the blazes did you do to me, Oliver?”_

_Repeating the cycle, over and over. Weeping for joy when the first day succeeded. Weeping in pain when the only way to end the “loop” he had created was to find the only way to sate this never ending hunger._

_“I’m sorry, master.”_

_Memories wiped, day after day. Endless dishes served, another day comes only when the final offering of human flesh is devoured._

_“Pardon me, but...”_

_Waking up every day in the same bed that feels like new. Remembering nothing of the day before._

_“...Who are you?”_

_A land where he can enjoy the finest of tastes, and the loyal double created to serve him..._

_“Please.... Just call me Oliver.”_

Arthur takes the last bite, something hot and molten filling his veins like liquid lead. He slumps, resting his forehead on the table, as fatigue suddenly shoots through him like a bullet. His eyelids slowly slide closed, a serene smile resting on his lips and blood smeared around his mouth.

“Damn it... damn it all....”

Oliver slowly backs up against a wall, clutching his chest as his heart once again begins the painful process of regeneration. It didn’t work again, it didn’t work again. He hisses in agony and watches Arthur sleep. Another day, failed. More dishes, wasted. 

“Why...”

Salty tears begin to fall as Oliver stands, his heart still slowly knitting itself back together. He leans a hand against the wall to steady himself and finds it burning hot. He pulls away.

“Damn you... Arthur.”

_If it means we can escape, I will give you my heart._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank for you for reading!


End file.
